


Acts of Service

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [75]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Haircuts, Love, Nervousness, Reader-Insert, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: When Loki asks you for a favor, what are you supposed to say–”No”?!
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [75]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 12
Kudos: 199





	Acts of Service

You _really_ shouldn’t be doing this. What did you know? Nothing, that’s what. You had no experience, no training, and, as far as you could tell, no skill whatsoever. But Loki had given you That Look, the wide-eyed pleading look that got you every time, and you bent to his will like always. 

If he didn’t absolutely dote on you every single day, you might have worried that he was only manipulating you.

But there you were in the kitchen. Loki sat in a chair in front of you with a towel around his shoulders. You held a pair of scissors in hands that threatened to tremble. Of all the times that you _didn’t_ want shaky hands, holding a pair of blades was probably pretty high on the list.

It was no secret that, when he was feeling at his best, Loki could be extremely particular about his appearance. You might even call him “fussy”. Not to his face, but, like...in your head. Quietly. Just in case he could read your mind. So in a way, you knew that his request should have been a good sign to you. If he was comfortable enough here to care about his appearance, that was a pretty big achievement, even if it did feel backwards according to Earthly standards. 

But his hair was getting long. A few months in lockdown led to quite a bit of hair growth for him, and it was driving him crazy. You could kind of understand why—your own dry, scraggly split ends were starting to irritate you—but he still looked amazing. Ethereal. Perfect. He’d brought up the topic for the first time a few weeks ago. He’d held you in bed and tentatively asked if you’d be willing to help him cut his hair. Even half-asleep, the idea had terrified you, but you tried to hide it, mumbling nonsensically about having to watch some tutorials online before you felt ready to do anything to his hair.

But then that morning, he’d woken you up by shaking your shoulder gently. He’d been standing there at the side of the bed holding a beard trimmer left behind from a man you’d long since forgotten, and his eyes were wild. At first, you thought he was demanding to know where it had come from. When your brain woke up a little bit more and he allowed you to sit up, however, he’d threatened to shave off all of his hair if you didn’t promise to help him. You were pretty sure it was a bluff. He loved his hair as much as you did, and he especially liked when you ran your fingers through it in your quiet hours together. You couldn’t do that if he gave himself an at-home buzz cut.

So you’d given him a level look. He held steady for several more long moments, brandishing the trimmer in the air with his thumb on the power switch. But then, when he saw that, ultimately, you were not moved, his shoulders had slumped forward and he’d lowered his arms. 

“Please. I need your help.” The madness was gone from his voice, replaced now by a soft vulnerability that made something in your chest ache. Those were not easy words for Loki to say, even to you. And then he’d looked up at you from beneath his lashes, and then made those damned puppy-dog eyes, again, and he had to know that he’d won. 

Looking back, it was hard to tell whether it had all just been an act.

Anyway, you’d spent the morning watching your tutorials despite the fact that Loki kept interrupting to say he only needed a few inches cut off of the bottom, no layers, no feathering, no...”any of that,” and he’d gesture at the screen. But this was your process. If you were going to be entrusted with his beautiful inky-black hair and a pair of scissors, you needed to know what you were doing. You’d gathered all the knowledge you could possibly get via videos on the internet in just an hour or two of viewing, and then you’d gathered up every last scrap of courage and looked at him from above the screen of your laptop.

And that’s how you got here, in the kitchen. Ready to lay waste to the Prince of Asgard’s beautiful hair. You brushed it first. You really liked that. Even if you weren’t dreading the next step, you could brush his hair for ages. You often let yourself get lost in the sight of his hair. It was silky and glossy and just fucking _delicious_. When you ran the brush through it starting at the crown of his head and going all the way to the ends, you knew that he liked it too. You heard him let out a long sigh, and it was easy to picture the way his eyes would flutter closed. 

When you were finished brushing his hair, you wet it down. That helped to keep little bits of trimmed hair from flying all over the place, you’d heard, and it also made it a little easier to cut a line that was basically straight. His hair had just enough wave in it that you knew a professional might take another look when it was dry, to even out any weirdness at the ends, but you weren’t sure you’d do that, yourself. After it was damp enough, you brushed it again just in case you’d created any tangles.

“You’re stalling, my love.” He sounded amused, but also a little impatient. You put the brush down and took a deep breath.

“What if I mess it up? You’re going to hate me until it grows back out.” Even to your own ears, the words sounded silly. Hadn’t he spent the last few months absolutely spoiling you rotten? He was so sweet to you, so tolerant and loving and kind. It was honestly hard to believe sometimes. On your worst days, you caught yourself wondering if this was all a prank, or if it had started out as a prank, or if the Avengers PR team had set up some sick new reality show to keep the world entertained during the lockdown. 

But Loki was just Like That. He could be rough and prickly sometimes, obviously, and he was no stranger to fits of anger and frustration, but never once had he ever vented any of that in your direction. Sometimes when he disappeared into the bedroom to talk to Thor, he came out again absolutely fuming. When he did, you tended to sit quietly. You didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on in his head. Truth be told, maybe there was some small part of you, the part that remembered previous relationships, that was almost afraid of attracting too much of his attention—and therefore anger—to yourself. But after a few minutes, he’d force himself to take a deep breath and then he’d look at you and his face would just go so soft and tender. He’d laugh quietly at himself like he thought it was silly to have been so upset and then tell you what had set him off. 

It was likely that the rest of the world would never believe how gentle he was with you. That had to be okay. The rest of the world would probably never see this side of him anyway. This was reserved only for you, for your time together locked safely away from prying eyes. 

Sure enough, Loki turned to face you when he made sense of your words, and gazed up at you without any trace of irritation. He reached for your hand and kissed your knuckles. “If you do not know by now that I could never hate you, dear heart, then I have not been doing my job.” But his eyes held more admonition than guilt, and you had to nod. As soon as you did, those very same eyes flashed with mischief and he rose to his feet. “But if you are truly so frightened, then I can always just shave it all off!” He started towards the door and, though you were still reasonably certain that he was still bluffing, you squeaked and leapt to catch his wrist.

“Okay, I’ll do it! Don’t shave it off! I’m going to do it right now!” You tried to pull him back to the chair, but he put up a fight at first. That weasel protested and struggled against you until you heard yourself actually _begging_ him to let you cut his hair. That’s when he stopped and grinned wordlessly at you, and you made a face at him. Of course that had been his plan all along. 

He let you lead him back to the chair and even sat patiently as you went once more through the process of brushing his hair. After a much shorter time than before, though, you put the brush down and picked up the scissors. Okay. This was fine. Just hack off a few inches of his ends and you’d be done. 

You worked slowly. You were very careful about making your cuts. It was hard to do the whole ‘measure twice, cut once’ thing with hair that was on a living breathing creature, but you did what you could. He was so beautiful, and though you knew that he would still be beautiful even if you messed up his hair, you felt like you owed it to him to get this right. 

By the time you finished, you’d taken off several inches. There wasn’t much of a change in his appearance until you moved around to the front of him to make sure his hair was even in the front. He made no attempt to disguise the love in his eyes as he watched you. It became a little distracting—your eyes were drawn to his face instead of his hair. But you did what you could. When you were finished, you reached up to muss up his hair and it fell in damp waves around his face. You had to catch your breath.

“You’re lovely when you look so focused,” he said in a low voice. He was looking at you like he had no idea what _he_ looked like. All the languages on Earth didn’t have enough words to tell him how heart-stoppingly gorgeous he was. You just had to hope that he could see it in your face.

He must have seen something, because he laughed under his breath and reached out to pull you into his lap. As soon as his lips slanted across yours, you dropped the scissors to the ground so you could tangle your fingers into his hair. 

He held you like he’d never let you go.


End file.
